Poems (Southey)/Volume 1/Sappho
Sappho.
SAPPHO.
A MONODRAMA.
Scene the promontory of Leucadia.
This is the spot:—'tis here Tradition saysThat hopeless Love from this high towering rockLeaps headlong to Oblivion or to Death.Oh 'tis a giddy height! my dizzy headSwims at the precipice—'tis death to fall!
Lie still, thou coward heart! this is no timeTo shake with thy strong throbs the frame convuls'd.To die,—to be at rest—oh pleasant thought!Perchance to leap and live; the soul all still,And the wild tempest of the passions hushtIn one deep calm; the heart, no more diseas'dBy the quick ague fits of hope and fear,Quietly cold! Presiding Powers look down!In vain to you I pour'd my earnest prayers,In vain I sung your praises: chiefly thouVenus! ungrateful Goddess, whom my lyreHymn'd with such full devotion! Lesbian groves,Witness how often at the languid hourOf summer twilight, to the melting songYe gave your choral echoes! Grecian MaidsWho hear with downcast look and flushing cheekThat lay of love, bear witness! and ye youths,Who hang enraptur'd on the empassion'd strain,Gazing with eloquent eye, even till the heartSinks in the deep delirium! and ye tooShall witness, unborn Ages! to that songOf warmest zeal; ah witness ye, how hardHer fate who hymn'd the votive hymn in vain!Ungrateful Goddess! I have hung my luteIn yonder holy pile: my hand no moreShall wake the melodies that fail'd to moveThe heart of Phaon—yet when Rumour tellsHow from Leucadia Sappho hurl'd her down A self-devoted victim—he may meltToo late in pity, obstinate to love.
Oh haunt his midnight dreams, black Nemesis!Whom, [1]self-conceiving in the inmost depthsOf Chaos, blackest Night long-labouring bore,When the stern Destinies, her elder brood,And shapeless Death, from that more monstrous birthLeapt shuddering! haunt his slumbers, Nemesis!Scorch with the fires of Phlegethon his heart,Till helpless, hopeless, heaven-abandon'd wretchHe too shall seek beneath the unfathom'd deepTo hide him from thy fury.How the seaFar distant glitters as the sun-beams smileAnd gayly wanton o'er its heaving breast!Phæbus shines forth, nor wears one cloud to mournHis votary's sorrows! God of day shine on— By Men despis'd, forsaken by the GodsI supplicate no more.How many a day,O pleasant Lesbos! in thy secret streamsDelighted have I plung'd, from the hot sunScreen'd by the o'er-arching groves delightful shade,And pillowed on the waters: now the wavesShall chill me to repose.Tremendous height!Scarce to the brink will these rebellious limbsSupport me. Hark! how the rude deep belowRoars round the rugged base, as if it calledIts long-reluctant victim! I will come.One leap, and all is over! The deep restOf Death, or tranquil Apathy's dead calmWelcome alike to me. Away vain fears!Phaon is cold, and why should Sappho live?Phaon is cold, or with some fairer one—Thought worse than death!She throws herself from the precipice. 1793.